Schmerz
by Romanec
Summary: XFC. Slash. Charles says he knows everything about Erik, but in truth he doesn't. He only sees that coin a handful of times, but each time reveals something more. 3 part story.
1. Part One

_**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men. Marvel does. **_

**A/N: What was supposed to be a simple little 5+1, now evolved into an 9-section, 3-part story. **

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><p><strong>Schmerz<strong>

It was spinning through the air the first time Charles saw it, and admittedly, he had not known of its significance at the time.

A small silver coin. No bigger than a quarter, but at least twice as thick, done in a taboo design that would make most viewers either freeze in shock or scream in outrage. Though aged and well-worn, the coin glinted as it sailed effortlessly through the man's - through _Erik's_ - fingers. Their boat was heading back to harbor, where a CIA car would be waiting, and both he and Erik had been shoved below, dressed in borrowed dry clothing and still covered in blankets to block the chill. Charles' companion was silent, staring off into what was physically nothing, the use of his power as natural as Charles' own.

And Charles had never seen anything like it - never imagined such a mutation could possibly exist. Though he had known about the nature of Erik's mutation from the flashes of his mind, seeing it used so easily, so obviously, had his eyes glued to the coin. Whirling in between one nimble finger after another, almost in some dance that rang of growing impatience, moving as if of its own accord.

But the other man, however, was naturally suspicious, and that was something Charles had known from the brief encounter with his mind. Only a few seconds of staring had snagged Erik's rapt attention, and he caught sight of Charles' attraction before the telepath could pull it back. With a small glare that held more pain than anger, the coin was pocketed instantly, gone from sight.

"Don't read my mind," Erik ordered softly. But the tone, instead of commanding, held such the same vulnerability as it had when they had first met, that Charles pulled his attention away and offered a small, trust-me quirk of his lips.

"I will not, my friend," he swore.

_'Never about that,' _was left unsaid by them both.

Erik simply snorted in response, and returned to his inward turmoil.

And Charles, closing his eyes, smiled grimly, an image of the glinting coin playing vividly in his mind.

**-X-**

The second time he saw it was not much later, though far enough away that Charles had almost forgotten about it.

They were sitting side by side in sleek blue car the facility had graciously provided for their mutant recruitment, pressed against finely tailored, sand-colored leather that covered their seats. Charles' hands clutched the steering wheel a little more tightly than normal as they drove under the cover of night, nothing but stars and random street lights to show the road.

In the back seat, curled up in the corner and unknowingly draped under Erik's heavy brown jacket, Alex Summers slept with a frown, body readily defensive even in sleep. Their newest recruit, pulled from the safe torture of solitary confinement he had purposefully fought to get himself into. It pained Charles that someone so young could already be so wary of the world, so ready to just give up, because he thought he had no other options. Because he thought he had been alone.

"I used to be like him, once." Erik's voice was quiet, and Charles almost jerked from the surprise of hearing it - the drive had been silent since Alex had fallen asleep. He glanced over quickly to see Erik staring in the rearview mirror at their slumbering charge with an unreadable expression. "Wanted to lock myself away, so that I could keep everyone else safe."

As his chest contracted painfully, Charles listened.

"When you have such an extraordinary gift that you can't understand, that only seems to bring pain to you and everyone around you, no matter what, the only thing you can think about is getting rid of it. And when you realize you can't get rid of it for your sake, the next thing to do is get rid of it for everyone else's." He could hear as Erik swallowed thickly, even as voice became a faint hum of eerie music. "It's a form of torture all on its own. And you always hope it's worth the price."

From the corner of his eye, he once again saw it. Almost like the tear drop of a moon beam, shinning in delight as it floated directly in front of Erik's eyes.

"I have seen people just give up and die." It was said so quietly that he wasn't sure he was meant to hear it. "I have seen them alive, but dead, walking without life and doing the bidding of others simply because. I wanted to be like that."

"He will not have to pay that price again, Erik," Charles promised softly, gently, cutting into the monologue, because now he was certain it wasn't something for his ears. Not just yet. "No one will. _Never _again." And he tried to put it in his voice, since by oath he could not by his mind, that his words applied to his friend as well. To assure and comfort all at once.

"Such an optimist, Charles."

But the coin stayed in place, and the conversation stayed silent, for the rest of the trip. And in the shadow of the coin, of the words still echoing in the car, optimism was not what was singing for Charles tonight.

**-X-**

The third time he saw it, its image was still firmly implanted in his mind.

After Russia. After the loss of Armando and Angel and their safe haven within the CIA facility. He knew, of course, it had been out several times between then and now - had caught small glimpses he could only assume were of it, once again flying around pale calloused fingers in a hypnotizing pattern.

But now, in the army truck on the way to Westchester, it was out in the open again. Spinning madly with the fury of a murderous rage, rather than its normal impatient tone. Like the ride before, this one was also silent - the children secured in the back, still in shock over the death of one companion and the betrayal of another.

Charles would be lying if he said he didn't feel the same anger Erik's power was currently radiating. At the CIA for not defending the children more, at Shaw for threatening them at all. But, as usual, he held his thoughts, and did not comment on the coin.

Unfortunately, Moira did.

"Those coins are illegal to possess, you know." She had said it in such an off-handed way, as though it were some dangerous secret that was she was kind enough to keep for Erik, with an implication that he should feel grateful that she was keeping quiet. Charles knew she was still annoyed about the disobedience in Russia, but before he could move to quiet her, she continued. "Silver crafted in the blood of innocent people, and with that mark ... I know you revel in your dark nature, Mr. Lensherr, but surely even you can't condone the acts of the Nazi and Hitler's empire-."

"Moira!" Charles protested sharply, but the coin had already fallen to Erik's hand, and the air had suddenly grown thick.

"I am surprised, Agent MacTaggert," the German whispered, keeping his gaze on the coin. "Did you not read my file?"

"Of course I did," Moira replied, confused. "It was sparse on details until you were twenty-five, at which time your ... quest started making it into the records." Charles watched as his friend nodded slowly at the words as though they made perfect sense.

"That would be the case. The world is only now beginning to realize what the people in the Camps went through, aren't they? And who was there."

He shifted just enough to that the sleeve of his sweater inched up, revealing the first three of the series of numbers permanently marking his forearm. Charles could feel when Moira finally caught on, his own mind almost going numb from her shock as the coin slithered up Erik's arm to lazily caress the numbers.

"The only blood that crafts this coin, Agent MacTaggert, would be my mother's," he concluded, and finally allowed his eyes to raise and fall on her.

The woman, unable to form words, stayed silent. And for the first time, Charles could not bring himself to play mediator - could not ask for forgiveness and understanding. Instead, he watched the coin with its swastika symbol, and felt something inside of him break. To see it in flashes was one thing, but to actually hear it...

_Erik. _He reached out timidly to the man's mind, forming a connection for the first time since Miami. _My friend. Erik. _

The coin slowed as a tendril of pure grief traced along the connection.

_...Charles. _

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><p><em><strong>AN: **_

_About __Alex/Eric. I love protective Magneto, and Alex wasn't awake when he was covered with the jacket. Anyway. At the moment, the next section is written (rating will go up), but the last part is not - I have yet to know if it will completely follow the original ending, or if it will follow most of it, and break into AU. Guess you'll find out when I do. :)_

_Please don't be shy to review. I like knowing what people think after they read my writing. :)_


	2. Part Two

_**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men. Marvel does. **_

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews. I…honestly sit up and wait to get the first one before I shut down the laptop for bed. I'm an emotional person - they always bring tears to my eyes. So, seriously. Thank you. **_**Very**_** much. Here's the next part for you. **

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><p>The fourth time he saw the coin, he couldn't quite look at it the same way as before.<p>

They were sitting across from one another, he and Erik, opposing sides with no ill intent - he with a military of White, Erik with an army of Black. A fairly classic mix of painted wooden pieces, some captured to the other side, others still standing in their places on the battlefield, awaiting their own victory or massacre with blank but prepared expressions. It was not the way that Charles would normally look at a game of Chess, but then again, Erik was not a normal opponent.

Their first game had been quite similar.

Only twelve minutes into the first round, and the older man was already dominating a majority of the board. Erik's strategy, unlike his own, was loose, nearly non-existent, and all together too rash and unpredictable. He sacrificed his pawns eagerly where Charles fought to preserve his, but with no clear sense of distraction that he could quite pinpoint.

Because it wasn't there.

"You know, Erik," the telepath voiced with only a tinge of irritated exasperation. "Battles where one side simply rushes in against the other rarely have victorious results, even if that side does, by some miracle, manage to win." Somehow, the slight smirk that slipped onto Erik's mouth didn't surprise him.

"And yet I do seem to be winning," he pointed out, jolting a pawn forward with little pause. With a frown, Charles took it down with a pawn of his own, and added the piece to his growing prisoners.

"It would seem that I was unprepared for such a play," he allowed, and Erik chuckled lightly.

"Many are, my friend. Many are."

And that was when he saw it. His attention now slightly deviated from a game that no longer seemed to require it undividedly, he could see the circle of metal resting just against the corner of Erik's half of the board. The flames of the fire that crackled in the hearth danced in a tantalizing reflection against its cool surface, twisting in a pattern that practically invited him to come forward. To reach out and grab it, feel it - _I won't hurt you_, it seemed to whisper. _I promise. I just want to help you. Make you clean. __**Save**__ you_-

"Charles?" The magnetic mutant's voice was like a whip, snapping and pulling Charles' mind sharply back to the present, to the now, to Erik. They shared gazes only briefly, before Erik's gaze dropped to the table with a low whisper. "Where is your mind tonight, I wonder?"

Following his gaze, Charles was mortified to realize that his hand had inched forward across the table, towards the coin, and with a cough he began to pull it back, opening his mouth to spew off some dismissal, only to freeze when his friend's larger hand darted out to clasp it. A tight squeeze, a cross between warning and desperate and something else he knew but couldn't name. "Charles."

"I haven't broken my promise, Erik," he assured, lifting his eyes once more. And this time, their eyes locked - lost blue with broken green and more temper and secrets than possibly healthy. The grip of their hands loosened slowly, but didn't quite pull apart as the frost around Erik's eyes began to thaw.

"It troubles you." And it wasn't a question, but an observation, that slipped from his lips. Charles swallowed harshly.

"It ... _worries_ me." _About you, _left unsaid, and they held their gazes even as Erik's other hand enclosed around the coin, and pulled it back to its familiar location of his pocket. The hand holding his tightened painfully once more before breaking away completely, and the next second, they were back into their routine, Erik tossing a rook to its slaughter almost absently.

"Don't let it," he said simply, but there was an undercurrent there. "Don't let it affect you at all, Charles."

"Erik-"

"Your move, I think." That was that. The study fell into silence outside the crackling of the fire.

And, hesitantly, Charles took the rook with remorse.

**-X-**

The fifth time... had not been intentional.

Because after their first night at Westchester, filled with pawns and rooks and pain, Charles was certain Erik never intended to let him see that coin again.

After the last time, Charles wasn't sure he _wanted_ to see it again.

But the day had been long and hard, starting well before dawn by habit more than need, drifting into night by sheer lack of having enough time. Emotions had run rampant with joyous glee from the first waking hour, strained and stretched out from too much in too short of a period, and the looming threat of possible Nuclear War should they fail...

Erik had taken off the moment Sean's training had been done, begging off for lunch, not even waiting for the children as he usually, albeit deniably, did. Even without his abilities, Charles would have had to have been completely numb to miss the tension that had radiated off the older mutant - the stress, the tendrils of residual fear and misplaced, homeless guilt. But he had disappeared before Charles could do more than futiley call his name with the background chorus of Sean's confused distrust. And as Alex and Hank required his attention after lunch and dinner, he was given no other chance. But it was best, sometimes, to leave one to fight their own demons alone.

Unless that someone was a man who had been forced to fight his demons alone his entire life. Unless that someone was Erik.

Three successful tests later, where Charles had simply thrown aside caution and forced Alex to control his mutation by ultimatum, he had left the rebellious teenager in Hank's timid by capable hands, and made his way to the third floor of suites. Up the stairs, to the left, down to the center of the hallway. To the room directly across from his, where he could practically feel the metal of the door hinges quaking in their restraints, hear the faint phantom whispers echoing from one subconscious to his own.

_Eins, Zwei, Drei ... Eins, Zwei, Drei ... Eins, Zwei, Drei ..._

German.

"Erik?" He called out lowly, giving the door a gentle rap so as not to startle the other mutant. There was no verbal response, no shift in the shaking of the metal. The mental projection of numbers continued to echo. _Eins, Zwei, Drei ... Eins, Zwei, Drei... _He knocked again, harder this time. "Erik? Erik. May I come in?" He paused for an answer. Again, none came.

_Eins, Zwei, Drei ..._

Cautiously, he turned the knob that oddly held no resistance despite its metal structure, pressed against the door, and slipped into the dimly lit room Erik had chosen on his first night

"Eins. Zwei. Drei. Eins. Zwei. Drei."

Erik was sprawled on the bed as though he had fallen there unwillingly - legs spread, pants rumpled - the upper half of his body resting awkwardly against the headboard, tilted to an uncomfortable angle, expression vacant as he stared ahead, repeating the three numbers in dead succession.

The coin flying through his fingers in its normal, impatient pace, occasionally dragging across the skin in a way that brought a tick of a flinch of the man's eye.

"Bloody hell." Charles stepped further into the room, moving towards the bed, eyes darting back and forth between the empty look and the angry coin. "Erik. Erik, can you hear me? Erik?" Please?

The empty eyes shot towards him, and the professor barely had a moment to prepare as an assault of emotions and thoughts slammed against his mind in fierce attack - anger, grief, guilt, horror, guilt guilt guilt. His jaw clenched tightly, teeth grinding as he struggled to keep them at bay.

_Herr Doktor._

"No! Erik." God! Forcefully, he pushed back the emotions, the pain, reaching out to grab Erik's shoulders in his hands. "Please, my friend. It's only me. It is only me!" _Erik, please listen to me. It's me. Charles. Can you hear me?_

_Herr Doktor. Charles … Charles._

"Charles?" Finally, a voice. In spite of his fear, or perhaps because of it, a laugh escaped Charles throat as life trickled back into the haunted eyes of his friend. The coin had settled its incessant spinning, once again simply floating. Watching. Charles shook it off.

"Yes. It's me, Erik. It's me." He was shaking. Or was that Erik? "For God's sake, what were you doing? What happened?" The German shook his head. "Erik? Are you alright? Do you need-"

"Sean. How's Sean?" One of Erik's hands reached up to grip his arm, connecting them in a tangle that almost seemed life-saving. Charles' concern grew.

"Sean? He's downstairs, Erik. Perfectly alright, if perhaps a little irritated. I do believe he was going to talk with Alex about getting in on a prank against you in retaliation, so I would watch your back for the next few days ... Erik?" The man's expression had gone slightly vacant again. "What is it? Talk to me, please."

"Can't read my mind tonight, Telepath?" It would have been a hurtful taunt if the words hadn't been so lost.

_Eins, Zwei, Drei..._

"Quite the contrary, you're broadcasting like a radio. Nothing I can make out, however."

"Bad signal."

"Must be," Charles agreed, but his eyes turned back to the coin, which had once more begun to spin in jerky, uncontrolled movements. "Erik, please."

"He was so scared." It came out as a whisper. Charles' brow furrowed.

"Well, of course he was. Natural reaction for anyone shoved off of a satellite near ten stories tall. You... you had to have known he would have been terrified, Erik."

"Of course I knew. How could I not?" There was something bitter in the words. "I pushed him off that satellite knowing his fear and instincts for survival would force him to scream. To fly."

_Eins, Zwei, Drei..._

"And you were right."

"But I didn't consider what would have happened if I hadn't been." Erik turned back toward him. "Charles, I didn't take into account that he might not have made it. That maybe he wouldn't scream at the right pitch, that maybe he wouldn't know how to move his suit. That maybe he would simply fall to his death. All I thought is that I will do this - I will force him to do this, and it will either work, or it won't."

_Eins, Zwei, Drei..._

Realization hit Charles like a ton of steel. Herr Doktor. "The way you were trained."

"Yes."

The coin was once again gliding along Erik's loose hand, pressing hard enough to leave faint white-to-pink tracks against the tanned skin. The sight of it, of the marks it was adding, no matter how temporary, made Charles gut twist in spasm.

"Erik," he said carefully, firmly. "You are not Shaw." The shoulders he held jumped with a scoff of disbelief, but Charles tightened his hold, lowering himself until he was on the mattress, staring the other man directly in the eye. "Erik. _You_ _are not Shaw_. And you are not his monster. He did not create you, my friend. And he does not define you."

The smile that twisted on Erik's face was a sad sight to behold.

"Shaw is the only reason I am alive, Charles. He is my only reason for living anymore."

_Eins, Zwei, Drei..._

The professor loosened his hold, didn't remove his hands, allowing his fingers to dig gently into the muscle and bone comfortingly. Beseechingly. "Not anymore," he whispered. "I have told you before, Erik, and I will continue to tell you until you believe me. You are not alone. Not anymore. Never again."

_I will not leave you to that fate, Erik. I will not leave you._

_Do not make promises you cannot keep, Charles._

They both noticed as Erik's hand wrapped tightly around the coin, imprisoning it, imprinting its design into his palm. Blue eyes glinted.

_I won't._

**-X-**

The sixth time was different. A head-on collision Charles saw coming, and welcomed with an almost accepted sense of suicide.

The sixth time, he went looking for it.

The darkness of night was fast beginning to be chased away by the first rays of dawn when he slipped from his room, path barely lit enough to make out the distance to the door of the other room without giving himself away. Morning. Their judgment day. In just a few short hours, far from enough time, their team of seven would racing across the Atlantic towards Cuba and an extremely real situation. President Kennedy's address rang in his ears as though it were still playing on the television - war. The threat of World War - Nuclear War - placed a weight of lead on his shoulders that he was barely able to hold up. Erik's own plans had him staggering under the weight.

Judgment Day indeed.

Silently, he pushed open the door the lead to his friend's room.

He knew with a numb certainty that, if they succeeded with their mission, Erik would kill Sebastian Shaw. That same numb certainty assured him that the death would not be fast, and it would not be painless, and it would not be clean.

_'The question is, do you have it within yourself to allow that?'_

The room was dark, save for the gentle presence of cloudy light peaking through the sheer drapes. He could barely make out Erik on the bed - on his back, ready to strike and run, his brow furrowed in intense thought, his teeth lightly grinding as his eyes moved lazily under his lids. Dreaming, or not yet a nightmare. Charles, free of metal and utterly silent, attracted none of his alert attention.

The coin shimmered slightly from the side table on the other side of the bed.

_'Do you have it within yourself to allow that?'_

By nature, Charles was not a violent person. He had seen far too much pain - both his own and that from the thoughts of others - to intentionally inflict his own, or condone it at all. But what was between Shaw and Erik, it was not violence. It was not anger. It was something dark, and freezing, and very, very dangerous. A magnitude that Charles could not even think to begin to analyze. Everyone had sensed that darkness that held Erik so firmly - Moira had even mentioned "psychotic" more times than once in regards to it - but Charles had seen something more.

From the coin that the metal manipulator kept so close to himself.

Slowly, carefully, he made his way around the front of the bed, torn between glancing at Erik and staring at the coin. The coin. He knew nothing about it, other than that his friend coveted it so deeply, but with rancorous resentment. That he connected it to his past in the camps, to his mother's death, to his fear of Shaw. A physical representation - a reminder - of the rage that consumed him.

He had swore to never read Erik's mind of it, but that much he knew.

If it came down to it, as a final option, Charles would not stop Erik from killing Shaw. He would try - _oh he would try_ - to convince Erik to let go, to be the better man, but if it was necessary, he would allow it, and would think no less of him. For Shaw, Charles cared little, but for Erik himself... what this could do to him...

He reached the table with no problem, and for a moment he simply stared at. Reichsmark. Nazi coin made of pure silver, an eagle ingrained on the back, its talons clutching a wreathed swastika as though it were something to be proud of. Paul von Hindenburg's face on the front, not Adolf Hitler's, but the message was clear enough. A reminder of hate, and a cause of hate, and echoes of nightmarish memories that were quite real. Erik's reminder. His hand reached out, mesmerized, disgusted, fingers outstretched and barely ghosting along the metal.

And in a flash Charles couldn't catch, a strong hand wrapped harshly around his wrist, and he was suddenly facing Erik instead of the coin, green eyes screaming what the hell do you think you're doing even as his lips shaped different words.

"Don't touch it."

"Erik-" he began, but the grip merely tightened, urging him closer to the man and further from the coin.

"I know you're concerned about me, Charles. I won't pretend to know why. But I can assure that this coin," and here, it lifted from the table as though by an imaginary hand, "will not give you the answers you seek."

The sun was beginning to peek from behind the clouds, allowing more sun to leak in through the window. It lit Erik's face gently, and Charles saw no rage there. None of the anger that usually accompanied his friend was present - his mind was nothing but a complete blanket of vague sorrow that was hidden from him, with spikes of fear. Fear Charles couldn't place.

"Then explain it to me, Erik," he implored softly, voice barely heard. His telepathy ached to rush into the other's mind, to simply _see_, to know, to _comfort_, but he staved it off violently. "I want to understand. I need to understand."

_Please, Erik. _He pleaded. _Let me in._

And time seemed to stop.

"Oh my dear Charles." There was something sad in his voice as he said those words. "It is beyond words that I could tell you, and I am not yet ready to show it."

The professor was silent, contemplating the words, as the other mutant beckoned the coin towards them. It fell into the palm of Erik's free hand like an eager puppy, shining in the morning sun as it trembled with eagerness for touch that was not granted.

"But know this, my friend. There are only three people who center around this coin - only three people who it will touch. My mother, whose blood stains it by my hands. Shaw, who gave it to me so kindly, and to who I will return it with equal kindness, and myself. Only us three, Charles. Do you see why I kept you from it? Do you understand?" And Erik yanked his wrist, jerking Charles forward until his knees nearly faltered against the mattress, their faces so close their breath mingled. He could see the flecks of silver on the green of the magnetic mutant's eyes, shivered at their intensity, as though _he_ was the one being read, and not the other way around.

_I fear for you, Erik, _he whispered silently. _Do not lose yourself to this._

"It will not taint you too," Erik vowed, inching closer. "I won't let it, Charles."

_I swear it_.

And Erik pressed forward, brushing their lips in a kiss that Charles let happen as the coin slipped from view.

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><p><strong>AN:**

_Note to self: I seriously need more of Erik with the kids. Gotta work on that.__**Anyway**__, I lied. Rating will go up next chapter; I rewrote this too many times to try and fit it in now. I've decided (__**note!) **__that the end will turn into AU. Just so we're all clear. Last two sections of the last chapter become AU of the XFC ending._

_Ok. Please review and let me know what you thought?_


	3. Part Three

_**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men. Marvel does. **_

**A/N: Ah! I know it's beyond overdue. :( Talk about major writer's block. Anyway, here it is, longer than the last… with a surprise at the end. :)**

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><p>The sixth time had involved some sort of morbid acceptance of approaching suicide. Acceptance that it could not be avoided if he somehow managed to get what he wanted.<p>

The sixth time was acceptance. The seventh time was his attempt, because even if he was not holding the source, he willingly stood before it, arms outstretched, and _demanded_ _it_.

The seventh time, he saw the coin, and saw it, and saw it - spinning towards him, towards them, reflected hundreds of times over in broken pieces of shattered, blood-spattered glass that covered an unnatural floor. Cursed, seductive, fatal shinning silver, and he did nothing to stop it. Because the alternative was so much worse. War. The deaths of the children, by one side or another. The death of Erik, literally or not.

An unpayable alternative.

And so when Erik's barked, desperate command came, Charles slipped into Shaw's mind with all the subtleness of a sledgehammer, tackling the man's mental barriers with a brutalness that was pure Lensherr. The first step was simple - the man was distracted - but the next step felt like a steal rod being thrust through his head, leaving nothing but an eruption of magmatic, searing fire in its wake. Shaw fought him, pushing against the bindings with untold strength, and it took all Charles had to thrust aside the pain and latch onto the corners of the other mutant's psyche as the man pushed his body to reach for his helmet.

_**Freeze.**_

Seconds away from their goal, the fingers froze, and he was suddenly in control of a radioactive weapon of a body that continued to pulse in power against him, and a mind he would not be able to hold for long. Herr Doktor.

But there was silence. A chaotic dance of darkness and memory lines flashed to serve as his backdrop, echoes of screams and plans, nothing solid to hold onto, to balance with. A blur of mad genius. And a face peering in at him through eyes that were not his own, murderous, raging, questioning ... and concerned.

_Erik? _he called, and green eyes flashed in relieved recognition. But only relieved in recognition.

_Charles._

There was something strong - dark - creeping along the edges of his psyche, something that tasted bitterly familiar and dangerous and wrong. Something that felt wrong, even though his body's location was not with his mind's. _Erik, _he called again. _Erik. Please. Something isn't right. This is wrong. Wait. There must be-._

"I'm sorry, Charles," the other mutant apologized, but instead of silent - intimate- the words were verbal. Waves of regret splashed over his mind like a cooling, unwanted aloe, and Charles watched in stunned horror as his friend slowly, _tenderly_, pulled Shaw's helmet from its holdings, and slipped it over his head. Erik's death was an unpayable alternative. One that did not even bear thought.

But now, Erik was gone, though he stood right in front of him. In front of them. The green eyes looking at him now were void of anything Charles could recognize, standing still and perfect and ...

_Beautiful, isn't he?_

The voice was low, chuckled. The darkness crept over his vision and he was suddenly not looking at Erik, but at the man who had tried to create him. An ageless face, gleaming white teeth, hard blue eyes sparkling with twisted taunting humor.

_Telepath, _Shaw said cheerfully in way of greeting. _Not how I intended to meet you, I will admit. But glorious, nonetheless. Fitting, even. That you should be here when it finally happens._

_Erik, _Charles tried again, hissing the name, desperate. But all the stayed before him was Shaw. _Erik!_

_He won't hear you_. A gleaming smile. _Can't, I'm afraid. Not with that helmet on. "Telepath-proof", I suppose you could say. Even more fitting, since I had it crafted to protect against you. _

Charles did not respond. Would not. He focused on Erik, on the soft sounds of verbal words he could barely hear. The low voice that poured like liquid metal, not as it had been the days of their training, but as it had been on that first night, trapped in the water, new and dangerous. Flat. Charles cringed. Erik.

_This was never about me, you know. _Shaw again. Something warm flittered against him, like a soothing touch against his back that made him shudder. _Never about the others. I lost Erik in the War, but I knew - I __**knew**__ - he would return to me. I can only do so much, but him? _A dark laugh. _I made this for him! I made him for this. Who better to understand the oppression, the torture, the death that is coming, than someone who has already been there? Who better to conquer it, than someone with his power? His strength?_

It was almost as if Charles was hearing the words coming from Erik's own mouth. They were so similar, almost identical in passion. In belief.

_Did you think, little telepath, that you actually ever had him? That he was ever on your side?_

He could still hear Erik speaking, but not. Could feel something shifting through the currents of Shaw's body. He was losing ground, losing Shaw, losing Erik. Erik.

_I planned all of this! Whatever you came here to do will not happen. _He flinched. _Think, __**Charles**__, think! This is my plan! _

_Erik! Erik, don't. Please. 'Let me hear you, damn it!'_

_This is what I have made for him, and he came right to me! _Shaw was pulsating with pleasure._ To me, not to you. You, with your peace, your compromises and your fear, have nothing to offer him. He came to me!_

And then Charles felt it, behind Shaw, through Shaw, through Erik, inside his own mind. The slight movement of power, the light puff of morbidly amused breath. Could practically feel the familiar presence of one small, thick piece of metal.

**-Unfortunately, you killed my mother-.**

Erik.

And abruptly, Charles had control of everything.

The sudden effect made him smile.

_You should turn around, my friend, and open your eyes, _he whispered to Shaw, whose gleaming smile had faded somewhat at the shift in energy current. _See what I see out there._

**-I'm going to count to three-.**

The sudden burst of dread at the sight of Erik - at the sight of the _coin_ - was not his own. He welcomed the vision of the Reichsmark slowly moving towards them. Somewhere, he knew, his physical body was tensed and waiting for what was going to come. Somewhere, he knew, his throat would scream in natural reaction to what would happen.

**-Eins-.**

_I was going to try and convince him to let you go, you know? Let you live. _Erik's eyes were shaded underneath the helmet, but he could still see their determination, their sorrowed anger, perfectly._ For his sake, of course. Not for yours. Never for you. But now - I can feel it in you, Mr. Shaw. If I do, you will kill him. All your hard work gone to waste. But you would ... start all over again, wouldn't you? Try again? _

The coin glittered, and Charles could feel Shaw's fear.

_I'm afraid I cannot give you either option, my friend._

**-Zwei-.**

_You will let me go_, Shaw stated, and it was more of an observation than a question or command. _I will not kill him_. The coin was drawing near, so close Charles could almost feel it. He knew the other mutant could too. He tightened his mind as though he were tightening his arms in restraint.

_But I thought this was what you wanted? _He replied, low and angry. Memory lines were flashing of images of Erik. A child, wide-eyed and crying in pain and fear as metal pierced his thin body, as electro waves sang through his bones at unbearable voltages. _Wasn't it? _Could feel the hunger, the horror, the breaking rage and pain. _Erik to become your 'monster'? Your death may very well bring that out._

_Stop this! _There was the command. _You cannot want this! _Charles merely tightened his mind further.

_I cannot. You see, I made a promise. Unlike you, I will not leave him._

_You will die with me!_

The coin was brushing against the thin barrier of skin, almost caressing as it dug further in. Charles allowed his vision to close, kept Shaw wrapped in his mind with unbreakable strength, and relished in the cold contact he could feel so perfectly. _'Erik_'. The thought was not defeated, but fond.

_You will die!_

And oddly enough, it made Charles laugh.

_But you see, __**Herr Doktor**_, he said softly. A memory of his own broke Shaw's lines - the image of him and Erik and the coin, the tentative kiss. _I am prepared._

**-Drei-.**

And the coin, round and silver and perfect and unholy, pierced through their skull.

**-X-**

The eighth time he saw the coin, Erik was nowhere to be found.

He stumbled from the hold of their downed jet, feet stumbling and tripping in the thick Cuban sand as he tried blindly to move forward - towards the children, towards Erik. His head screamed in protest - he could feel the blood leaking, but could not see it - his eyes tearing up sharply in the light of the sun. He could hear Moira calling out from behind him, telling him to wait, ordering him to sit down, struggling to catch up. But his feet kept moving forward, driven by the loss of the mind he had so firmly attached himself to upon his first meeting of it.

He could hear the children shouting, could feel pulses of energy and powers and adrenaline, but his mind was too empty - too raw - to reach out and stop them from fighting amongst each other.

And then he saw it.

Barely visible in the glare in the sun, smudged by his tears and distorted by his pain. But there. Shaw's lifeless body, hanging in mid air and slowly descending to the ground, Erik floating down with equal, but extremely alive ease.

He hit the ground gently, the body floating for another second before crumbling in effect, but Charles did not step forward, and Erik's words rang clearly across the sandy battlefield.

"Stop your fighting, brothers and sisters!" He cried, his voice ragged and harsh. Silence overtook them all as everything froze. "You are not your enemy. No. The real enemy is out there. The _humans_. Even now, after we have _saved_ them, they are preparing to fire on us. I can feel the metal of their cannons shifting our way."

Finally, then, his gaze, green and steel and defeated and proud, turned towards Charles. For a second, they locked, stared, and though the helmet was still in place, the telepath knew exactly what he was saying. "Go ahead, Charles. Tell me I'm wrong," Erik demanded, but he could hear the _please tell me it isn't true tell me I'm wrong Charles please _in the statement.

His head raged, but obediently he closed his eyes and brought his fingers to his temple, hoping that it was wrong, hoping it didn't have to be this way, even as thoughts of _firefirefire ordersfiredestroymutants enemiesenemiesfireFIRE _roared through his mind.

Tears burned his eyes. It was not supposed to be this way. This was not what he had hoped to give them. To show Erik.

"Charles?" Moira's voice, fearful, hopeful. The children around her, horrified and accepting. Slowly, his hand fell, eyes opened, looking straight at Erik and the gleaming helmet.

"They're...getting ready to fire," he confirmed slowly, quietly. The sense of defeat fell like a heavy weight onto his shoulders. "Russians and Americans both. H-humans. Humans against mutants."

"Fire _what?" _Alex demanded. He could hear the heaviness in the teenager's breaths he absently recognized as broken ribs as he answered.

"Everything."

"Let me call them." Moira was frantic. She grabbed his shoulder tightly. "Charles, let me radio them. Let me call them off. They don't know - they can't know. There are children here, they don't know-."

"They do," he assured. Erik had not released his gaze. "They know about us. They know about the children. Their orders are to eliminate the mutant threat. It came from the government, Moira. The CIA. Stryker. They _know_."

_You were right, Erik, _he tried to say. The helmet blocked him, but before he could say the words out loud, the roar of firing cannons drowning out any other sound. They looked as one, and it would have been amusing if not for the sight of dozens of various-shaped missiles streaming towards them. Ready to hurt, ready to kill. He could hear Raven's terrified whimper of realization and Hank's growl, could see Alex move to stand in front of Sean to fire energy he didn't have. See one of Shaw's mutants bend over to snatch up Angel's fallen form.

And then he was shoved violently to the side, elbow to his ribs, shoulder to his temple, and that was it.

He didn't know if the scream that surged through him managed to escape his mouth, but his mind burned with the power of it. Like his brain was splitting open, like his telepathy was lashing out at both him and anyone around. He felt everything, saw everything - the missiles and Erik and the power and the death -

"Charles!"

and then with a burst of piercing flame, it all went white.

When he woke, he wasn't on the beach anymore. Instead of sand, it was starch-white, thin sheets that cradled him. There was a _strong_ yet soft beeping in his ears, thin but _strong_ lines that held him down. Rope? Wires? A fluffed pillow underneath his head...

"Charles? Are you awake?"

Raven was standing over him, blonde hair and brown eyes so different from the blue and yellow he had left her with. Something wet and warm - a tear - splashed against his face from her eyes, and surprised he reached out for her.

"No. Charles, don't move. Alright?" Regardless, her hand clutched his reaching one and did not let go. "And don't speak either. Everything's fine. You're in the hospital. In New York. We're back in New York. You're hurt, but you're going to fine. You're going to be fine. Everything's fine."

He would have smiled if his head was swimming with the remnants of pain. His sister had never been very good at lying. Not to him, anyway.

"Sean and Alex are on the next floor down," she continued, hand absently smoothing back his hair. Her touch felt ... soothing. "I ... need to get back down there. Playing the "mom" and everything, you know. Have to explain how my brats broke their arms and ribs. They're fine, though. Um..."

Erik. He squeezed her hand pointedly, and was surprised when the move only brought more tears.

"You broke a few blood vessels in your brain, Charles, did you know that? You and your stupid tricks, what have I told you?" Anger. "In your throat, and in your head. They ... there was so much blood, the surgery was so long, they didn't think ... you know." More tears hastily brushed away. "That's ... that's what they told Erik. He's-he's not here, Charles. He's back at the mansion. I think he's planning on l-leaving..."

Leaving.

Raven must have felt his grip go slack in her hand, because gently she released him, still crying. She reached over to his bed table then, that he had not noticed before in all the white, and picked up something that scraped against the wood.

"Moira stopped by. She had to get back to Base, convince them that we weren't there. Or...or something. She left this for you. Lack of incriminating evidence, since everyone knows about him and who he is. Charles..."

And she pressed a blood-stained, silver coin in the palm of his hand.

**-X-**

The ninth time, he wasn't sure counted as a time. Because he was more holding it than seeing it. Clutched in his hand, burning against his skin though it was as cold and lifeless as Shaw's body laying on that Cuban beach.

But he called it the ninth time anyway.

He paid his fare with livelier coins, stepping from the cab and into the rain. His mind mentally pushed the driver to forget his face, this location, with only a mere thought. His hands stayed in his pockets, no longer needed to channel his telepathy. There was no channeling it anymore.

He stared up at the vast walls of the mansion, peering into the rain-filled night sky and the lit window of the room he was looking for. Still there.

The radio stations were buzzing with the news of the Cuban Missile Crisis (as it had been dubbed). Of the American and Russian ships that had blown each other apart with their own missiles, of the few men on both sides who had somehow managed to get away and survive. The general population was left confused but relieved at the lack of war, but Charles knew that the governments were still aware of the mutant population. Of the threat. Knew that they knew who had blown up their ships and saved some of the crew.

He pushed open and walked through the front door, the coin as his companion.

He knew Erik meant to leave before he was set to return - had known it the moment Raven had spoken of her suspicions. Oh yes. He knew Erik quite well. Almost as well as he knew himself, both from his mind and from actions and from the words he said in anger but not _with_ anger. He knew why the other was running.

He ascended the stairs one at a time, fingers of his free hand ghosting over the wood of the banister with each step. His throat throbbed with the change in pressure, but his mind was at pure ease with every step he took closer.

His telepathy wrapped around him, just as frantic, just as sure. An extension of himself, alien no longer. But missing something. Yes, knew why Erik was running. He wanted to run as well. But the could not. Not now. It was too late for Erik, and Erik knew that. Besides. Charles had made a promise.

Already he could feel the familiar thrum of the mind that had closed itself off to him so viciously just days before. Two days before. Barely two days before. The helmet was removed ... gone? He could sense its void nowhere beyond the door he now stood in front of.

Behind his back, slowly, caustically, he twirled the coin between his fingers in much the same manner of its owner, the ridges grazing against his skin. His lids fluttered at the hard feel of it, the intimate familiarity, as his other hand slowly turned the knob and opened the door.

_Erik_, he called, because his throat burned at the mere thought of speaking. The light revealed the dark figure, clad in turtleneck and slacks of black, slowly and reluctantly folding another shirt to put into an overused bag. The other mutant barely jumped at the intrusion, though there was a soft chuckle.

"Charles," he whispered. It was warm. "Why am I not surprised you survived?"

_But you thought I wouldn't, didn't you?_ He wasn't accusing, but meant for it to hurt. But only a little. _Isn't that why you're leaving?_

"You know me, I like to be prepared for the inevitable ... did the doctors even sign for your release?"

_No._ He smirked, but it quickly faded. _Erik. Look at me?_ The older man stayed bent over his bag, unmoving but unrelenting. _Please, Erik. This is the first time I've felt you in days. Please let me see you._

When Erik did turn, it was almost anticlimactic and knee-buckling. He was as flawless as he had been before the mission - injuries from his brief fight with Shaw completely healed from his face and hands. He stared at Charles with the same intense green gaze, taking in the same stock, sadness clashing with determination clashing with resolution - you still intend to leave.

"There is a war to fight out there, Charles," he said firmly, shaking his head. "If you've been outside of the hospital, then you've heard of it. You know as well as I that the right people know who and what we are. They will come for us."

_And you don't intend to let that happen, is that right?_ Charles sneered. If the anger was his own or Erik's, he did not know. It did not matter. _Going to fight them on your own?_

Suddenly, there was a strong hand wrapped around his neck, pushing him back against the wall with only slightly conscious vigor. He could feel a new round of blood start to boil up, but he swallowed harshly against the strength of the hand as Erik's grip tightened.

"Do not presume to patronize me, Xavier," the metal-bender snarled. "Do not assume that you know anything about me."

If he could have, Charles would have laughed.

_But Erik, for once, I truly do know everything about you_, he whispered gently, and did not look away. _I know that your favorite color is red, because it is the color of your mother's favorite flower. I know that you stowed away on an American convoy and bribed a solider into getting you to France after they liberated your camp. I know the things that you did for money, what you used for distraction, and I know that no child should have gone through that_. The hand on his throat loosened somewhat.

"I _know_ that you know all of that, Charles." Less anger, more defeat.

_I also know that, because of your past, you will not allow any of our children to be forced to fend for themselves again, Erik. Which is why you started this war. I also know that now, with Shaw dead, you feel that you are alone in this. That you must fight alone, because no one else is connected to that past. To you._

_Am I wrong?_

The hand fell away, and more blood rose that Charles swallowed yet again. He watched as Erik slowly moved backwards toward the bed, falling onto the mattress when he reached it, shoulders slumped. He kept his head raised, though, met Charles and his sureness defiantly, but with a hint of a twist of a smile on his face that was so similar to before.

"What's behind your back?" He inquired. The coin grazed against his skin again at the same time, as though it were being called and trying to get back. Slowly, Charles stepped forward, pulling the coin out for Erik's eyes, a smile of his own forming at the look of pure disbelief, at that the man did not reach for it. "_Charles_..."

_I know. _He soothed. _I know, Erik. You wanted me to have nothing to do with it. But this coin, this little piece of metal, is so much a part of you that I have been touched by it since the first night. Every time. And it has touched me, Erik. You know it has._

"I didn't ..." _Didn't know._

_My mind may be healed, Erik, but you know where the damage came from. You know that it is not only Shaw's blood on this coin. That it is not only yours. Not only your mother's._ Slowly, he sat beside the older man on the bed. _All these reasons you are forming to run, Erik, and yet I am right here._ As Raven had done before, he placed the coin gently into Erik's palm. _I am right __**here**__._

"Damn it, Charles." Erik's fingers, trembling, smoothed over the crimson silver metal of the coin. A long, deep sigh escaped his lungs, and Charles continued.

_I heard Shaw's dying screams. I witnessed his final moments. I kept him there. I let you destroy those ships, and saved the men who will someday help us. For you, Erik. _

The other's head shot up. "You remember?" _I didn't mean to taint you sorry so sorry always failing I've hurt you I've hurt you._

_Yes._ He reached out then, gently but firmly wrapping his fingers around the hand holding the coin, connecting them all. _You haven't done anything to me. Nothing happened that I didn't accept and ask for. Erik. Stop. I promised you. I promised you. I would not leave you to your fate. I will not leave you now._

The coin dug into the skin of both of their hands as Erik tightened his grip. They were angled just right, facing one another in the glow of the lamp. So similar to that morning, when Charles had tried to steal and destroy what was currently in their hands.

"Even though our ideals are so different?" Erik demanded softly. "Even though it will mean war? You will stay?" And Charles smiled, risking the blood and the pain and opened his mouth.

"Yes."

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><p><strong>AN:**

_Not at all how I intended it to go. Even ... slightly. dark!Charles invading my brain, stories always writing themselves ... anyway! You are perfectly free to leave a review for this chapter if you want (I certainly won't complain!), or ~points~ you can go read the Epilogue, and just do it there. If you want to. :3 _


	4. Epilogue

_**Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men. Marvel does.**_

**A/N: Well, this is it. The Epilogue. It's all over! ... In case you're here from alerts, _STOP. _Did you notice that there was a new chapter before this? Please go back and look, otherwise you will probably be confused. :)**

**Also, thank you _all_ so so so much for your kind words and thoughts during the story. I totally appreciate the time you took out to write the reviews you left. They seriously make my days. :) You guys have no idea how wonderful you are. I would gush longer, but I think you want to read, soo ... :3 Just know I'm gushing gratitude.**

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><p><strong>Epilogue<strong>

* * *

><p>Erik did not know what he had done in his life that he deserved where he was now. Surely killing dozens of people, both under orders and under duress - starting a war that was bound to brings thousands more deaths - did not provide a happy ending. And he had played Grim Reaper to more than just the cruel and evil and unjust. Innocents had died before his eyes, by his hand, long before he had even reached his fifteenth birthday.<p>

"Relax."

Yet here he was, the Jew, the Nazi hunter, the mutant, the _monster_, twisted up in fine, comforting cotton sheets, lips traveling hot frantic trails down sweat-slicked pale skin like a starving man, as he slowly entered the smaller mutant beneath him.

"E-Er_ik_."

Pulling his lips away. "Do not speak, Charles, or I will stop."

Four months after he had had his revenge on Herr Doktor. Four months after the "mutant threat" had become the focus of the human governments. Four months after he had met this man - Charles - and formed the beginnings of an organized race with him. Started a war of freedom with him. Four months to now. To this thing that he did not deserve.

_You-ah. You would not dare-._

Smirking slightly against the nape of his lover's neck, Erik nipped and pulled back until they were barely touching. _Would you care to test me on this? I can be quite _- he thrust forward sharply, crashing his mouth against the telepath's to pull away the oxygen that would make him moan, even as his own cry escaped - _stubborn._

_B-believe me -God, Erik!- I know. _

Four months, Charles' throat had not completely healed. He could speak, if done softly in normal tones. Sharp cries and low whispers made him cough relentlessly, made him bleed, and Erik as well as the children always made it their job to make sure he didn't speak when it was not necessary. Not that it was ever necessary for a telepath to use his voice, but their new recruits and growing society were often put at ease if they heard him speak verbally first, before entering their minds.

_You're drifting,_ Charles accused, twisting his hips purposely in a way that forced Erik to slip deeper into the tight warmth that was still so new to them both. _Am I not enough for your thoughts like this tonight, Erik? Should I finish myself, then, if you're too busy?_ A pause, and then Charles pushed himself up, placing a gentle kiss to the side of his lips. _Come back, Erik,_ he beckoned, drawing him closer, deeper.

The cool feel of thin red and silver metal around his lover's finger, made from an old, small coin at Charles' quiet and honest request, brushed against his shoulder blade. A matching one on his own finger. A hard fought battle, but a constant reminder. A conquering. Erik smiled.

He should have been left alone. This should have ended. But he had to have done something right, somewhere. Somehow.

"I am here, liebe," he swore, and began moving again. The metal of their rings rang as they clicked together, hands interlocking. "I am here."

_As am I. _

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><p><strong>AN:**

**And it's done! Wow. And yay! :3 Thank you guys for sticking around and reading! Or just showing up and reading all four pieces. Whichever. My undying gratitude towards you! I shall pay it in ... more stories. Oh yes. Delightful. **

**Let me know what you thought? :)**


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